Thorne, Vance, and Rielle were in the physical conditioning classroom, enduring the grueling exercises under the watchful eyes of Lock. The recruits had been running laps around the vast room for the past hour, and even Thorne was beginning to feel the strain. His stamina points were flashing dangerously, reminding him that even he had limits. All around him, recruits were collapsing like flies, retching up what little food they had managed to scavenge the previous night.

Rielle had dragged her battered body out of bed when Lock had appeared in their sleeping quarters, barking orders at them to get moving. She had tried to keep up with the others, but after just two laps, she had collapsed in a corner, gasping for breath.

Despite her obvious pain, Lock had continued to hurl abuse at her, his voice echoing off the stone walls. His relentless barrage was meant to break them down, to weed out the weak, and the older recruits who had gathered to spectate seemed to enjoy the show, placing bets on who would be the next to fall.

Thorne knew he had an unfair advantage. His endurance points were far higher than those of the other recruits, giving him a stamina reserve that they could only dream of. Every few minutes, he pretended to need a break, bending over and gasping for air like the others, but in reality, he didn't need to rest. Still, just because he had the stamina didn't mean the exercise was easy. His muscles screamed in protest as he forced himself to keep running, pushing through the discomfort.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lock called for a break. A collective sigh of relief swept through the room as the recruits stumbled to a stop, many of them collapsing onto the floor, too exhausted to move. Thorne noticed Rielle still struggling to catch her breath in the corner, but there was no time to check on her as Lock immediately set them on their next task: jumping hurdles and pulling weights.

For Thorne, these exercises were laughably easy. His superior attributes made the tasks trivial, but for the others, they were a true challenge. He saw the boy he had beaten up for the bed, his exposed flesh a sickly shade of yellow, straining to lift weights that were clearly too heavy for him. Despite his struggles, the boy's eyes were filled with determination. With a loud grunt, he managed to lift the weights for a brief moment before they clattered back to the ground with a crash.

Rielle had rejoined the group after Lock threatened to kick her out if she didn't participate. Though she grimaced with every movement, she pushed herself through the exercises, refusing to give up. Vance, who had been a menace during the earlier laps, was now struggling, his strength flagging as he struggled to lift even the lighter weights. It was clear that the physical toll was catching up to everyone.

The training dragged on for hours, the recruits slick with sweat and their muscles aching. By the time Lock finally called an end to the session, they were all thoroughly spent. They had an hour to rest before their next class, and Thorne, Vance, and Rielle decided to stay in the room, too exhausted to move far.

When the hour was up, they headed to the weapon training room. Lock, as relentless as ever, had them face off against each other, starting with basic footwork. For the first hour, all they did was practice steps and moves that Sid had ingrained into Thorne years ago. It was monotonous, but Thorne moved through the exercises with precision, his mind half-focused on the repetitive drills.

The monotony was suddenly broken when Lock called for them to attack each other. The room filled with the sound of shuffling feet and grunts as the recruits sparred. Then, without warning, a sharp snap echoed through the room.

Everyone froze, turning to see what had happened. The muscle-bound boy who had failed the stealth techniques earlier lay crumpled on the sand, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. Standing over him with a self-satisfied smirk was the bruised recruit from the previous day.

Thorne's eyes narrowed as he met the boy's gaze. There was a manic glint in his eyes, as if he was promising Thorne that he was next. Thorne stared back blankly, unsure if he was meant to be intimidated. Instead, he turned his attention back to his opponent—the blonde-haired girl he had faced during the sword session. She looked back at him with wide eyes, clearly shaken by what had just happened.

Lock didn't seem to care about the dead recruit. He called for two others to pick up the body, his voice devoid of any emotion. The recruits dragged the boy's lifeless form out of the room, leaving behind a silence that hung heavy in the air. Their numbers were shrinking—only thirty-two of the original forty-seven remained.

Later, when the class was over, Thorne was checking a blooming bruise on his arm. The blonde girl had become surprisingly adept at unarmed combat, and she had managed to land a solid kick on Thorne's arm during their sparring match. As he rotated his arm to check for any unseen damage, Vance approached him, his expression serious.

"You know that was meant for you, right?" Vance said quietly, his eyes flicking to where the dead recruit had been.

Thorne nodded, still rotating his arm. "I'm shaking in my boots," he replied with a smirk, though there was a hardness to his tone.

Vance shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "I wish I had your confidence," he muttered.

Before Thorne could respond, Rielle stomped over to them, her face a thundercloud. "What's wrong with you?" Thorne asked, noticing her sour expression.

Rielle huffed and glared across the room. "I didn't get to kick the shit out of that bitch, that human pimple!" she snapped, her voice seething with frustration.

Vance looked between Thorne and Rielle, then sighed in exasperation. "Do you two ever consider being nice to people? Maybe then they wouldn't plot to kill you at every corner."

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Rielle's response was immediate. "Nope," she said flatly.

Thorne protested at the same time, "Hey! I'm nice! Well… sometimes."

Vance just shook his head with a small smile. "So, what's next?" he asked, looking between the two of them.

Thorne's stomach growled loudly, reminding him that the two pastries from the previous night had done little to sate his hunger. He glanced at Vance and Rielle, who both looked equally worn out, and decided it was time to address the issue.

"We need to find food," Thorne suggested, his voice firm. "I'm starving."

Vance nodded with a serious expression, then quickly broke into a grin. "A noble quest indeed," he quipped, adding with a wink, "and one that might just save us from becoming skeletons before our time."

Rielle, who had been glaring at something or someone across the room, finally stopped and shrugged. "That works for me," she said, though her voice still carried a hint of irritation. "But after that, I need to find somewhere to wash. I feel disgusting."

Thorne nodded, remembering the washroom he had found near their sleeping quarters. "I found a washroom close by," he offered. "I'll take you there after we get something to eat."

Vance's eyes lit up with mischief. "Why not head to the older recruits' resting area and steal some more food? We've got Rielle, our resident spy, to show us the way."

Rielle gave Vance a look but eventually nodded. "I can take you there, but I'm not sure I can sneak inside in my condition," she admitted, her hand instinctively moving to her bruised side.

Thorne quickly stepped in. "I'll go myself. You just point me in the right direction."

Vance flashed him a grin. "Good enough for me! I'll stay back and entertain the lady while you do the heavy lifting." He gave Rielle a mock bow, his grin widening.

Rielle groaned, rolling her eyes at Vance's antics, but a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself. She reached back, gathering her red hair into a ponytail with a thin strap of leather she pulled from her pocket. "Alright," she said, "follow me."

Thorne and Vance fell into step behind her as she led the way out of the training room. Rielle's movements were slower than usual, her injuries making her stiff and cautious, but she moved with determination. They navigated through the now-familiar tunnels, passing a few recruits who barely gave them a second glance, too wrapped up in their own exhaustion to care.

As they walked, Vance couldn't resist throwing in a few more jokes, mostly about the "noble quest" they were on, with exaggerated tales of their heroism and bravery. Rielle snorted at one particularly ridiculous quip, though she tried to hide it behind a cough.

Eventually, they reached the circular room with the bridges above—the place Rielle had mentioned before. She gestured to a narrow staircase tucked away in a corner, its stone steps worn from years of use.

"That's where I found the older recruits' resting area," she explained. "It's a floor above us. There's a pantry in there, stocked with all kinds of food. If you're careful, you should be able to grab enough to last us a while."

Thorne studied the staircase, his mind already planning the best approach. He turned to Rielle, his expression serious. "Stay here with Vance. I'll be back soon."

Rielle nodded, her usual fire dimmed by the pain she was clearly trying to hide. "Be careful," she said, her voice softened by a hint of concern that she tried to mask.

Thorne gave a curt nod and began his ascent up the staircase, his movements deliberate and measured. As he neared the top, he paused for a moment, preparing to activate his Stealth skill. The familiar sensation washed over him, and his body seemed to blend into the shadows, his presence diminished to almost nothing.

The door at the top of the stairs led into a dimly lit corridor, the air cooler and fresher than the levels below. Moving cautiously, Thorne slipped through the corridor, his Stealth skill keeping him undetected. He approached the resting area that Rielle had described, listening carefully for any signs of movement.

Peering through the slightly ajar door, Thorne saw several older recruits lounging on worn-out couches, some playing cards, others resting or chatting in low tones. In the far corner, he spotted the pantry, its door slightly open, revealing shelves lined with food.

Thorne's heart pounded in his chest as he slipped inside, his steps silent and deliberate. He moved quickly toward the pantry, his eyes scanning the room to ensure no one noticed him. His Stealth skill held strong, but the tension in his muscles reminded him of how exposed he truly was.

Once inside the pantry, Thorne worked quickly, gathering as much food as he could carry—bread, cured meats, fruits, and some dried herbs. As he loaded his arms, he heard footsteps approaching. He froze, his heart skipping a beat as he realized he was still too exposed.

Before he could retreat, the door swung open, and Rafe barged into the room, his obnoxious voice carrying through the space as he entered with his crew.

"Pretenders, the lot of them!" Rafe sneered, his voice echoing in the room. "Think they can survive on scraps and blind luck. They're not even worth the dirt on my boots."

One of his lackeys, a lanky boy with a perpetual smirk, laughed too loudly. "You'll show them, Rafe. Just a matter of time before they're groveling at your feet."

"Of course they will," Rafe boasted, puffing out his chest. "It's only natural. We're the real Cousins, the ones who'll carry on the family legacy. The rest are just fodder, here to amuse us until they get tossed aside."

Thorne gritted his teeth as he listened, every word grating on his nerves. He ducked behind a shelf, but he knew it wouldn't be enough to hide him. His mind raced, and with no other option, he activated his Shadow Meld skill, feeling the familiar drain on his aether as his body melted into the shadows, becoming nearly invisible.

Another recruit, a bulky girl with a cruel grin, chimed in. "Did you see that red-haired girl collapse during laps? Pathetic. She should have stayed down, save us all the trouble of kicking her ass later."

Rafe snorted. "She's lucky I didn't decide to finish her off myself. But then again, where's the fun in that? Let her squirm a bit longer."

The group laughed, their voices filled with malice. Rafe strutted around the room, picking up a piece of bread from the pantry and taking a bite without a care in the world. "We own this place," he declared between chews. "It's about time these recruits realized that. I'm tired of playing nice."

His lackeys eagerly agreed, showering him with sycophantic praise. Rafe's eyes glinted with satisfaction, basking in their adoration. "Let's see how long it takes before the weak ones start begging to go home," he said with a nasty smile. "I'll make sure they remember who made them crack."

As Rafe and his crew continued their obnoxious banter, Thorne could feel his aether points dipping steadily, a reminder of how precarious his situation was. Rafe walked dangerously close to where Thorne was hidden, and Thorne could feel the sweat on his brow as he remained perfectly still, blending with the darkness.

After what felt like an eternity, Rafe finally moved past him, heading toward a staircase in the back of the room that led further upstairs. Thorne waited patiently, his breath shallow, until Rafe and his crew disappeared from sight.

With the room clear, Thorne let out a slow breath and released his Shadow Meld skill, feeling his body return to normal. He quickly grabbed the food he had gathered and slipped out of the pantry, making his way back down the corridor and the staircase as fast as he dared.

When Thorne finally reached the bottom of the stairs, Vance and Rielle were waiting, their expressions tense.

"Who's ready for a feast?" Thorne asked with a smile.

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